


Someday, Somehow, After All This Sacrifice

by captainlights



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Daedra, Depression, Elder Scrolls Lore, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fighters Guild, Flashbacks, Fluff, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Corpses, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Rivenspire (Elder Scrolls), Rivenspire Spoilers, They really care for each other, Trauma, Vampires, are they in love or is it just platonic love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28234605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainlights/pseuds/captainlights
Summary: After returning to Tamriel from Coldharbour's burning grasps, nightmares fuel Naelahra's mind. The nights are too quiet and too cold, and the days are too bright and too warm—nothing is as before. But, who is she to say about what was or how it should be? Her memories of the life before Coldharbour became flashes of lightning in a continuous storm, and she wishes she could pinpoint the moment everything happened.Or, in which Naelahra and Verandis talk depths of the night and grow closer.
Relationships: Verandis Ravenwatch & Female Vestige, Verandis Ravenwatch/Original Altmer Character(s), Verandis Ravenwatch/Vestige
Kudos: 16





	Someday, Somehow, After All This Sacrifice

The Doomcrag stared back at her in its brilliant red glory. The spire was all that remained of the ancient city of Erokii, an Ayleid city that had been considered the greatest in northwest Tamriel. Naelahra let her eyes wander down to the book she held open in her hands: _Tears of Anurraame, the tale of an Ayleid princess_. The author was unknown, perhaps the lover or the husband who wanted to make amends to the princess. It was a story of love and heartbreak and the ruins of a once-great city. The fledgeling let her fingers brush against the words on the page, brows furrowed as she tried to imagine Erokii and the grand spire without the red glow. She imagined it as greater than Alinor, a city she wished to see once again. 

A sigh escaped Naelahra's mouth as she pushed strands of hair away from her face, as she pushed back the pulls of sleep that beckoned with every small movement she made. Sleep had its grasp on her, careful hands that tried to smooth the knots on her shoulders and lull her towards the bed in the bedroom she was so graciously given by her patron. But, no. She did not wish to lay her head on the soft pillows or cover herself in the warm blankets. If she did, the nightmares would reach her entirely. They would smother her like smoke, beckon her to rip into throats and shred skin from bones and push her daggers into hearts.

"Naelahra?" It was a deep voice that said her name, the door closing right after. "What are you doing out here this late?"

Naelahra blinked as she tried to make sense of the words on the book. After a moment, she closed it and laid it on the table in front of her before glancing back at the owner of the voice. "I apologise," she said, trying to smile. "I wasn't able to sleep, so I thought..."

The figure stood still in front of the door for a single moment, then stepped forward and chuckled. Count Verandis Ravenwatch shook his head and raised a hand. "No need to apologise," he told her as he closed the distance between them. Instead of taking a stand in front of her, or anywhere near her, he chose to seat furthest from her at the other corner of the room. He laid the book he carried in his hand on the small table beside him and leaned back. "I understand. I, too, came here to..." He chuckled again and shook his head. "Perhaps, we both were too busy worrying about the Doomcrag."

Naelahra hummed. "Yes," she lied between her teeth. It was part truth, but it wasn't the only thing that wanted to smother her. She did not wish to share with him the nightmares of Coldharbour; the familiarity with screams and pleads for the lesser Daedra to stop their torment. The way their claws would dig onto her skin like daggers, pulling and pushing until whatever blood was inside of her spilt around her like the waves of Summerset's beaches. Their cackles were as familiar as music, the whistle of flutes and the gentle pricks of the lute in a calm inn. Chains, too, became familiar. Their jingle against rocks, the coldness against her wrists and ankles. Coldharbour became as familiar to her as the Summerset she remembered. Or, tried to remember. 

"Do you wish for me to leave?"

Naelahra whipped her head to him, wide-eyed. "No!" The words left her mouth too quick. "I mean... No, please. Stay. This is your home, your library. I should be the one to leave."

"No." Verandis, too, answered quick. "There is no reason for you to leave, Naelahra."

It was a soft and comfortable silence between the two Altmer's. Naelahra found herself studying the noble vampire from her corner, eyes scanning him from the boots he wore to the simple jerkin. He dressed so simple, nothing like when she first met him at Shornhelm. Back then, which had only been a few weeks back, he had stood tall and proper in his mage's robes as he argued with Countess Tamrith and Baron Dorell. His hands had always been behind him, eyes careful to never show their true nature and words that ebbed carefully from his mouth like warm sunshine. Count Verandis Ravenwatch was an attractive mer, Naelahra had to admit. She liked the way his hair was long— _long enough for her to grip_ —and the way his eyes always appeared soft— _the way they looked back at her_ —when he focused deeply on something; the way his hands gripped— _she wondered how would they feel on her_ —books, as if they were something so careful that they would break to the touch. His fingers were long and slender, and she had imagined far too much about them brushing against her skin and in her mouth. 

Naelahra shivered and shook her head, letting it stop to stare out the window. She would _not_ think of that. She would not allow herself to think about Count Verandis in that manner, but part of her wished. In the depths of her mind, there was a vague memory of a Dunmer lover she had met in Balmora, on Vvardenfell. She could remember the way his skin felt against hers, the way his mouth traced the scars that adorned her body, but she could not remember his name. It fell from the tip of her tongue and unto the abyss that formed the moment Mannimarco had killed her. Memories were a pool of black sludge in her mind, pushing and prodding at every crevice to show a hint of colour but nothing ever appeared. Just flashes. They were never the full pictures, always like looking through murky water. 

"May I ask something?" Verandis' voice echoed through the silence. 

Naelahra let her eyes fall to him, only to his face. The space between his eyes, too afraid to look at them and allow him to peer into her very thoughts. "Yes," she said, then cleared her throat. "Yes, you can."

"Your mortal life," he said, almost frowning, "how was it like?"

Naelahra blinked. She had tried to think much of her mortal life, to grasp at the images of those she had cared about and the things she had enjoyed, but they were futile. The only memories she had of her mortal life were snippets, careful moments of certain things and certain people. "It was..." She frowned as she tried to search for the words to say, something that would allow her to make sense of her mortal life. "I think it was good."

Verdandis tilted his head to the side. "You think?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't remember much of it," she confessed, looking down at her hands. They had once been the colour of being under the sun for far too long, but now they were pale. They reminded her of the moons in the deep of the night, sometimes they reminded her of bones. "I remember small moments."

Verandis hummed. "Well, what do you remember?"

"My name is Naelahra Athaerith," she divulged, letting her eyes fall onto the fire in the fireplace. Her name felt foreign on her tongue, as if it didn’t belong to her. But, that was her name. She had been called so by Lyris Titanborn the moment she found her in the Wailing Prison. "I was born on a cool day of Hearthfire in Summerset. My father had a vineyard and my mother collected antiquities from all over Nirn." Memories flashed through her mind like lightning. The image of her father and her mother, both doubled over a table as they studied their own items. Her father was bent over fruits, picking them up with his fingers and studying them to see if they were the perfect size and colour. Her mother sat to the other end of the table, books surrounded her as she wrote down about the new item she acquired in one of her many journals. The fire from the countless candles illuminated the room in a careful yet comfortable glow, the chatter in the outskirts of the room pushed into mindless babble. "I had siblings." She couldn't see their faces or remember their names, but she remembered the way they ran with her down the streets of Alinor and through woods. Naked feet against warm beach waters, toes digging onto warm sands, laughter that bubbled at their mouth and the taste of smuggled wine at her tongue. She could feel their absence in her chest as each one left the family home to start their own families. Then, their absence turned into nothing. She knew she should miss them, needed to miss them, but they were strangers to her. Their names forgotten, left behind with her blood when Mannimarco pushed his dagger into her chest.

"You remember more than I thought you would," Verandis revealed, nodding. 

Naelahra turned to him. "What?"

Verandis' chair was closer to her, yet still far. "The first night you were here, the first night I helped you with your vampirism, you told me you don't remember much of your mortal life after..." He stared at her as he stopped himself from speaking. "You were in a blood-drunken stupor, Naelahra." 

It dawned on her. "I mentioned Coldharbour," she said, almost in awe. It struck her harshly how she could remember little of her mortal life yet remembered Coldharbour like the passages of her favourite books. 

"You did." Verandis nodded. "You said you were..." He stopped again, watching her. After a moment of silence, he pushed his chair closer. "You said you were sacrificed to Molag Bal."

Naelahra flinched. She could remember the screams that left her mouth as she pleaded to be let go, the way the knife felt in her chest as it was twisted and her soul began to slip from her being. Even then, even months after she left Coldharbour, she knew her soul would forever be lost in Molag Bal's realm. She let out a bitter laugh and shook her head, letting herself look at him directly in the eyes. "I think Auri-El must enjoy laughing at me."

Verandis stared at her, his thumb holding his chin while the rest of his fingers were close to his lips. "Why do you say that?"

"I was sacrificed to Molag Bal and now I'm a vampire." Naelahra swallowed hard and pressed her lips into a straight line, clenching her jaw. "The Father of Monsters, the Deadra that stole my soul, is now kin." A bitter laugh escaped her mouth as her hands closed into tight fists, her knuckles even paler than before.

Verandis stood from his seat and moved closer to her, to the seat next to hers. Once he sat, he pulled the chair closer. Their knees touched. "I understand what you feel." His voice was as soft and gentle as the crackle of flames in the fireplace. "It has been far too long since I was turned, but there is no moment where I wish for time to reverse so I could stop it. You and I are similiar in that."

The fledgeling pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and tilted her head back, her eyes focused on him. "So, we are two Altmer vampires who hate being vampires?"

Verandis let out a soft laugh that echoed in the room. It wove through her like a snake, sinking into her bloodstream and causing the cold of her skin to begin to warm. The laugh stayed on his lips, and he was smiling. "Yes," he agreed, nodding, "that is correct."

"Where are you from?" Naelahra turned her chair to face him completely, a leg beneath her.

The older vampire's smile faltered, but his eyes softened and his shoulders tensed. "Why do you wish to know?"

"You know a little about me, wouldn't it be fair that I know a little of you?" Naelahra's eyes wandered around the room. The walls were bookcases covered in books of all shapes, colours, and sizes. There was a desk to the other corner of the room, papers strewn on top with open journals and open books. A half-full ink pot rested in the corner, the other half of its content stained on the floor. 

"I was born in Summerset," he finally said. "I don't remember much of my childhood, but I do remember that both of my parents were scholars. That's where I got my enjoyment for learning from." He chuckled and shook his head. "I remeber travelling as soon as I could, and that was how I ended up in High Rock. I was granted a title, lands, and then I became a vampire. No, first I became a vampire and then I was granted a title and lands. I had wanted—and still do—peace with mortals."

Naelahra stared at him as he spoke, arms crossed in front of her as her chin rested on the head of the chair. His voice carried around her, like some form of blanket she wished to be under and a fresh gulp of air. The way he explained things reminded her of sitting by a fire and reading books and tomes. She wanted more of it, of the comfort he gave her by speaking of the simplest thing or the simplest moment in his long lifetime. The vampire in front of her gave her a different emotion than all the others, male or mer or beastfolk, had given her. It seemed that butterflies swarmed inside her stomach. 

Verandis stopped speaking. "It's late," he said, glancing at her. "And you're tired."

She shook her head. "I'm fine," she said, pushing a yawn back. "I'm not tired. I prefer to listen to you."

"You should sleep, Naelahra." He stood and took a step closer to her. Without warning, he leaned down and lifted her in his arms. 

"Verandis!" She gripped his shirt in her fist, cheeks reddening as he carried her out the library. "Put me down, please. I can walk on my own."

He chuckled, the motion causing his chest to move against her ribs. "If I let you walk on your own, how would I know that you would go to the chambers instead of sneaking somewhere else?" He let out a hum when she didn't answer. "I know of nightmares, too, Naelahra. They may be different, but they're still there. Sleep is also bothersome at times. I found that a poulstice helps, do you want some?"

Naelahra stared up at him. She wanted to let her fingers brush against his chin, to have him look down at her and smile bright. There was something inside of her that longed for him, longed for the memories that they could make even though they were creatures they hated. It made her curious. It had been months since she returned from Coldharbour and longing had become a strange thing; she had only longed for blood and her memories, but that kind of longing had faded as the moments passed her. She found herself to be a better warrior without the worries of someone expecting her to live. Naelahra was not important, she thought, only a pawn in the game of the gods.

But at that moment, in the middle of the night with her soul still in Coldharbour and desire such a foreign thing, she wanted _something_. She desired it. The comfort of knowing someone other than Daedric lords cared for her well-being, to think of her as not only a weapon but a mer that needed comfort.

"Does it truly help?" she asked once he opened the door to her chambers. He let her down carefully, still holding on to her once her feet touched the floor. 

Verandis nodded. "It is a strong poulstice of my own invention," he said with a hint of pride. He stopped speaking for a moment and let his eyes fall onto her. "No, you were asking if the nightmares stop."

She stayed silent. 

"No," he answered. "They never truly stop, not even with the poulstice, but they are tamer than without."

"Then, yes." She took a step forward. "Please."

The poulstice had a strong scent, a bitter taste, and it made her need the softness of the bed far too quick. She stumbled to the bed, forcing herself to focus on it instead of the man that held her as she moved. He was warm, and she wanted the warmth to stay longer than a small moment. Once her head hit the pillow, she felt slumber pull her deeper into its domain. Her hand reached for the warmth, catching a cold finger. "Thank you," she breathed, trying her best to focus on him. He was blurry. 

"Sleep," he said, in a soft and gentle tone. "I will see you tomorrow."


End file.
